


Supernatural OneShot

by Deans_Bitch



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Comfort, Cute, Fluff, Hurt, Reader is sad, this is what happens when i'm sad and i write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2015-11-15
Packaged: 2018-05-01 18:31:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5216231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deans_Bitch/pseuds/Deans_Bitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I wrote this while I was sad, so it's kinda depressing. I might do more oneshots in the future... suggestions? Requests?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Supernatural OneShot

 

You had had a bad day. That much was certain. A hunt gone wrong left you with a strong pain in your ribs, and that was just the beginning. The anniversary of your big brother’s death was just around the corner, and the current flow of jobs wouldn’t allow time for you to travel to what was once your childhood home in order to honour him and the memories of joy that lined those halls. You made the journey every year to the now rotting and abandoned farmhouse, often telling the boys that you were just going on a solo hunt.

 

Ah, the Winchesters. When you had first met them it was a tough time. Having just lost your brother, you hunted alone (somewhat recklessly) and they were oddly worried about you. After completely ignoring research and instead just storming the house of what you _thought_ was vampires, and then having your ass saved by them after getting yourself caught by the not-vampires, they offered you a place by their side for what was to be only a few hunts.

 

That was three years ago.

 

They were too familiar; too alike to brother you had so freshly lost for you to leave them. They didn’t seem to mind, they even seemed glad you stuck around. Sam once labelled you as the sister he never knew he wanted.

 

However, often you felt like a burden, and honestly, that was just a part of who you were. You had days that you felt 100%, like nothing could touch you. Then there were days you felt nothing, just empty of anything. Days like these ended exactly as they began: in bed, alone and tired.

 

It was the days like today that got you, though. The days you could cry for no reason. On these days you just avoided everyone, hiding in your room in the bunker, listening to music on your iPod dock to cover your pathetic noises.

 

Mix that with actual reasons to feel sad or depressed, and you got yourself a day and a half of sheltering yourself. Sadly, being on the road from motel to motel meant that hiding wasn’t exactly possible. You always shared a room with the boys, anything else would make them suspicious, and the last thing you needed was for them to know how truly pitiful you were.

 

After they decided to go to the diner for dinner, then the bar for some after-hunt drinks, you feigned fatigue in order for some alone time to do what you do best; curl up in bed and cry yourself to sleep.

 

 _“God, [Y/N], why are you even crying? You’re not even cut, its just some fucking bruises.”_ You thought to yourself, but it just made you cry harder at how pathetic you were acting. _“Its just a fucking house, it’ll collapse on itself soon, anyway.”_

That was the mental image that broke the dam. Your sniffling and watery eyes changed to body-wracking sobs and a damp pillow.

At least an hour later, what you thought might dissolve into a dreamless sleep just evolved into biting your thumb to stop wailing and howling in agony. You wanted to stop, you wanted to sleep, but your ribs ached, constantly reminding you of what a wuss you were, and every time you went to lay back and drift off, you were met with a wet pillow, and that just made you erupt all over again.

 

The lock on the door turned, and the voices of the Winchesters could be heard outside. Turning away from the door, and pulling your pillow to you as the door opened, you tried to seem asleep, and not in the middle of a hysterical crying fit.

 

It didn’t go so well.

 

“[Y/N]?” You heard Sam ask quietly, obviously scared you might just be asleep. “Are you crying?”

 

You felt the weight on the bed shift as he sat next to you where you had buried yourself under the blankets. A pitiful whimper left you as you tried to avoid curling into yourself further. He went to pull the blanket back gently.

 

You knew you looked like shit, just by his face alone.

 

“Shit [Y/N], are you alright?”

 

“I’m fine.” You mumbled and tried to turn away from him, but he stopped you.

 

“Bullshit.” You heard Dean say as he walked over to you and squatted so he was face-level with you as you lay on the bed. You knew he wasn’t mad at you, really, but your tired and sad brain made you say:

 

“Sorry.”

 

Dean’s face immediately softened, and you heard him mumble a curse of some kind under his breath. The thought that he was probably judging you and how weak you were made you say it again.

 

“’M sorry.”

 

“Hey, Princess, I promise you I’m not mad, alright?” Dean soothed gently, “You wanna tell us what’s going on?”

 

You let out another helpless whimper, followed by a hiccupped sob.

 

“M-my ribs hurt and I’m tired, and I miss my brother-“ You interrupted yourself with a quiet mournful sound. “And I’m being such a wimp and I-“

 

“Hey, no, [Y/N].” Sam interrupted, gently placing a hand on your arm, gently stroking in small circles in an effort to calm you. “If you feel sad because of something, it doesn’t make you a wimp.”

 

His words just made you want to cry more. You didn’t deserve their attention. You didn’t deserve to have them comfort you. They shouldn’t need to. You just wanted to have normal reactions to something for once.

 

You jumped slightly as Dean’s hand rested on your cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear that had fallen.

 

“You need to stop bullying yourself, [Y/N].” You heard him say, almost sadly. “You think Sammy and me don’t hear you when you hide in your room all day?”

 

You gulped. They knew. They knew you were pathetic, they were going to kick you out. They-

 

“Hey, Princess, snap out of it.” You heard Dean say, his hand encouraging you to look him in the eyes. “You ain’t weak, alright? You’re hurting, and its normal to want to cry about things that hurt. Honestly, Sammy and me think you are so strong for actually showing those feelings. That takes some courage that I certainly don’t have.”

 

“We promise, [Y/N], we don’t think worse of you. Is there anything we can do?” Sam chimed in.

 

You desperately wanted to ask them if they could take you to your old house, ask them if they would support you while you walked through the halls of your home, while you cried over little things; carvings in the walls as make shift growth charts, that dark spot on the wall where you broke your dad’s fancy pen and the ink went everywhere, the notches and dints where you had punched the wall in anger, frustration, sadness and sometimes all three. You wanted to ask them to go to with you to your past and not judge you for what they find there, but the words just wouldn’t come out.

 

“I-I wanna go home.” That was all you could get out, and even that was in a tiny and childish voice. Finding courage in the knowledge that they haven’t yet thrown you to the curb, you tried to be more specific. “My family home, I go every year on the day my b-brother-“ You stumbled, hiccupping as you tried so hard not to start crying again.

 

“So that’s where you go.” Sam said. “Always wondered.”

 

“Course we can go, sweet heart. It’s been busy lately, but if you wanna go, we’ll go.” His hand moved from your cheek to your hair, gently patting it down from its no doubt messy state. “It’ll be alright, [Y/N], everything will be ok.”

 

Sam got up from his place on the bed, and you fought the urge to reach for him. He circled the bed and stripped down to his boxers and singlet, climbing in next to you as he so often did when you shared with him on a hunt.

 

Dean got up from his spot and got into the other bed, turning off the light as Sam pulled you to him. You calmed slightly in the warmth and scent he gave, and suddenly realized how exhausted you were. Just before you fell asleep, you asked:

 

“Why’d you come back so early?”

 

“We missed you.”


End file.
